Best Yoni Poems
Data Birth;
INFILE 'C\Fathersperm\Motheregg\9_months\The_One_Of_Shadows.txt';
INPUT FNAME = 'Yoni'
LNAME = 'Dvorkis';
Var Hidden_Meaning = "SAS code is not meant to be poetry you nut job";
Run;
Data Child;
Set Birth;
Where Age >= 4;
Var Worldview = Parents_Worldview;
Var Facial_Expression = compress('Fear'||'Bewilderment'||'Jews believe in guilt');
Run;
Data Teenager;
Set Child (Drop= Innocence, Baby_Fat, Cheerful_Disposition);
Where Age >= 15 and BAC_Level >= .01;
Var Worldview = (Peer_Pressure * 100) + Favorite_Teacher_Worldview
- Parents_Worldview;
Var Hidden_Meaning = "Where are you going with this?";
Run;
Data Adult;
Set Teenager (Keep= Anger, Intelligence, Need_For_Material_Wealth, Hatred_Towards_Body
Drop= A_Sense_Of_Security_In_An_Unforgiving_World);
Var Job_That_Slowly_Kills_You = "Healthcare Data Analyst and SAS Programmer";
Var Worldview = (Company_Mission_Statement + Family_Is_Most_Important)
/ Screw_Everyone_Else_I_Have_My_Own_Problems;
Where Age >= 21 and BAC_Level >= .15;
If Yearly_Salary >= 100,000 then
Self_Esteem = "Now I'm worth something!!";
Else if 50,000 = 65 and Yearly_Salary = "Whatever's left of Social Security";
Var Cynical_Being =
(Why_Did_It_Have_To_End_Like_This * Years_Hiding_In_Plain_Sight )
- The_Will_To_Keep_Going;
Run;
Proc sort data = Old_Man out = Old_Man_On_Deathbed nodupkey;
By What_This_All_Meant_To_Me;
Run;
Data My_True_Identity;
Merge Old_Man_On_Deathbed (in = a) God (in = b);
By _all_;
If b and not a;
Run;
I don't believe in miracles, only you.
A sigh of love could say it all. This is true,
that ever since you looked at me I have known
I would never feel the same, oh how I've grown.
Never again will we mire in doubt. This time
You and I will cast the shadows from our minds.
This time I would learn from you all that I can,
what it truly means to be your perfect man.
How holy it feels to see behind your eyes.
My love has touched your core, infinite in size.
A universe of happiness now we bring
in union that defies the need for this ring.
My darling Veroni*, what have you become?
Where once there were two, now all I see is one.
*Vera + Yoni = Veroni
PoetrySoup …
I Was Heartily Welcomed… As I Sat At Your Table
By: Carol, Sara, Carolyn, Dane Anne, Moses, and Abel
Tim, Leon, John, Michael, Jim and Yoni
Deborah, Krista, Adeleke and Charlie
… James, The (Two) Ruben(s) and (The Quik-Composer) Raul
… and Many, Many More, I Love to Hear At Dinner-Call !
The PoetrySoup …
… It Has Member – Mushrooms
Chew and Chat Lunchrooms
Delectable Hors d'oeuvre
Every Ear-Full… Heard
Every Mouthful… Taste
Spoonful of Gourmet Grace
Voila’ Words, Don’t Waste
Simmer-Slow and Baste’
In Dug-up, Sweet Potatoes
Ripe Food for Thought Tomatoes
And Onions, That Will Make You Cry
Artichokes and Lemons that Squeeze – ‘til You Die
Garlic and Oregano Are Just Some Suggestions
And Here’s Some Mint… for Your Digestion
Parsley to Parley and Jive-Chives, Just Keep Stirring
But There’s No Clam Chowder, Shrimp, or Herring
A Dash of This… A Dash of That Seasoning
A Pinch of That and Sprinkle This Reasoning…
On The Side with the Mustard and Relish, so Fresh
Are the Cucumber-Contest and Radish Requests
And I Can’t Forgo the Tongue-in-Cheek Puns…
Your Laughter is Passed Around, like Hot-Buttered Buns !
… Poets … Are Proverbial Peas In The Pod
The Harvesters of Herbs-Heard, in The Garden of God
so... Salt and Pepper to Your Superb Style
Did You Say Cheese, Please ?... ( Full Mouth Smile !)
There’s Hot Chicken Broth, When You Are Cold
Everybody Knows… Its Good For The Soul
And All That’s On The Human Menu… It’s In There !
… Even A Mother’s … Tenderized Care
Like Campbell’s Brand… Its Umm… Umm… Good !
The Aspire – Asparagus, I Took… I Understood
So, PoetrySoup’s Cupboard is Never Bare
And There Ain’t No Bones, No Medium, Just Rare
And On The Star-Burner… Is The Savory Meat
So… Grab A Heartbeat-Bowl… and Bona Petit’…
Yes, Thank You, PoetrySoup
(You’re Up There with MoonBee’s FruitLoops !)
It Has Been A Pleasure Getting To Know You All
Thru Your Beautiful Expressions, Coming Straight
From Your Warm and Welcoming Hearts
God Bless You......
MoonBee
Are my Dreams reality or is Reality my dream // Dreams, reality / Dreams
As I slumber in the Ebony Valley Of Death // Ebony valley of Death / Ebony death
Hear Heaven's Hymns,Hell Screams //Heaven's hymns,Hell Screams /Hell screams
To be Contiued
Dedicated to Yoni Dvorkis
Typers Note - Yoni several years ago you asked Chef why he used so many Capitol letters. I too had asked him, yesterday he told me why. In most instantses the capitols
are another Poem inside the Poem as above. If the first word of the line is part of the Poem the whole word is Capitolized. This Poem = a Haiku and another Poem. There are 5
Hiaku in this Poem when it is done. I will send you the whole poem(s)
I wrote you a Soup mail with the rest of this poem(s). Respectfully Yours, Kenny A Fledgling Poet
Y is for Youthful, for being spirited.
O is for Outsize, the large heart you own.
N is for Natural, full of wholesomeness.
I is for Inspiring, the motivation you cause to a person.
Your name has its own beautiful hidden shadow.
Villanelle: Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Which mortal mammal’s primal address the rapists desecrate
Be not taken aback the yoni passage leads astray linga infidel
Seeds of life ever come tumbling from out the sacred temple
There to greet in meiosis and in secret reverence gestate
Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Do heathen women toiling in the dark draw the blinds on hell
And Gorgon heads of demons deep in them shudder vibrate
Be not taken aback the yoni passage leads astray linga infidel
Yet deafening tunnel shrieks of the human species’ s carousel
Re-winds obsessive tinnitus ear-pounding thuds to celebrate
Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Who keeps the sanctum sanctorum well-cleansed spiritual
But the defiant procreator linga tireless distending inebriate
Be not taken aback the yoni passage leads astray linga infidel
He who bestial disembowels the temple in a frenzied spell
His own mother disowns and hysteric squats on life’s dictates
Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Be not taken aback the yoni passage leads astray linga infidel
© T. Wignesan – Pars, 2014
THE RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS
By the Poets Listed After the Poem
There's good and bad in ‘most everything.
The same is true of guns! Ping, Ping, PING!!!
Targets as prey, almost any day,
Fun in the sun, clean family stay!
Boomerang, this wrong, right conspires.
We're all targets; guns will backfire.
On the loved throne from early shooting,
Bang! Bang! Huge torpedoes recruiting-
School massacres; what is there to say?
Beers, bullets; kill! American way?
Flash my piece for a piece of the pie.
From my cold dead hands, this gun you'll pry.
Bullet holes piercing loved ones for: Cash
Loot! Silver! Gold! Jewelry! Robbers' stash-
We must have the right to protect…. Broadcast!!!
These rights we must uphold, don't be crass.
Every home surely needs protection.
What! Haven't we learned? Expectation.
Except for prayer, we still have free speech.
How far, I ask, will lost freedoms reach?
CONTRIBUTING POETS:
Dane Smith-Johnsen, Doris Culverhouse, Ruben Ortellao, Charma Chircop, John Robbin,
Yoni Dvokis, Rain Cerdiwin Keetly, Patricia Prescott, Sara Kendrick, and
Dane Smith-Johnsen
The Love of Visual Art!
By the poets listed after the poem
The beauty born in every stroke he makes.
The master's golden touch paint emulates.
His colours and textures in crafting eye,
His mind in picture, fresh canvas applied.
He paints directly through sharp perspective
A gift to viewers is his objective
Inspired heart bleeds a deeper shade of red
This snapshot of his soul, on canvas bled.
No food or water when he really grooves
Like when planets collide, his paintbrush moves
Absorbed expression seeing over hues
Emotion beats in yellow, green, or blue.
Hints of the Master in soft undertones,
Emphasized brush strokes; Thy beauty is honed.
Listening to music, painting his heart
His work speaks well of him as they depart
A vision he had, his talents to give
His painting a treasure, forever to live
Joy unsurpassed, both taken and given.
Gifts that hands learned, oh, Master in heaven.
CONTRIBUTING POETS ( in Alphabetical Order)
Carolyn Devonshire, Yoni Dvorkis, James Fraser, James Marshall Goff, Abe Lopez, Raul
Moreno, Ruben
Ortellao, Carrie Richards, Dane Smith-Johnsen
He worships Her aroma
Velocitiy of depths
Tender tembre flame
Oval orchard
He knows
She has bled Life
healing each wound
of His yearning
I
Some poems write themselves
Maureen McGreavey excels in pithy poetry
So I do not love writing them, sometimes
II
When the Holy Spirit showed me a contrast
Luke 1, a priest prayed for a son (Elizabeth & Zechariah)
When Gabriel brought the good news, he doubted:
"How can this be true. I am old; my wife advanced in age.")
Zechariah was punished, but Mary was rewarded her asking:
"How can this be, I have not known a man?" Truth: innocence!
Zechariah was shut up for 9 months, until he said, "John!"
The name of the son Elizabeth bore, the forerunner of cousin Jesus -
Mary's faith stood not on education, nor upon reading ...
When Gabriel said, "The Spirit will overcome you as you bring
Forth the Hope of Israel: His name is 'YESHUA: God our Salvation!'" -
It stood on simple faith; faith comes by hearing (His Name) Amen
III
We have this treasure in earthen vessles, or jars of clay ...
This treasure, saints, THIS TREASURE, the Spirit of God
The Holy Spirit in each believer; Spirit of God's Holiness
Which is the power displayed in the Resurrection
That is why I have optimism about you, Syria, Iran, that nation ...
Because God makes no rejects, only Masterpieces
Who knew? A girl of Nazareth, a peasant, would be "THEOTOKOS"
- The One who carried God in the Womb - staggering ...
No wonder my India once worshipped through the linga-yoni
The Shiva stone representation of reproductivity
To show the fecundity, provision, multiplicity, through God
That power hidden inside the saints as Spirit: to obey
Dare to be a Mary, beyond the issue of gender, womb & phallus
Dare to be a Mary, birth the CHRIST child in you, with Spirit's aid:
After all, we are to be "Little Christs" in an otherwise dark world
IV
When I see the devotion to honor mothers and daughters
That no one (reading) is dead ... yet! I thank my mom, women in my lineage
"What is impossible with men, is possible with God,"
So said Gabriel, the Archangel in Luke chapter 1. Nativity!
The child of God, which is you, is deceived indeed.
He sees his love spat upon by mindless opinions,
only to realize he himself is the one who spits.
What do you seek so desperately from the world?
The Love of God knows you as you truly are.
Stop hiding from us, we can ALWAYS see you.
Stop hating us, we always love you.
Don't be sick anymore.
Sickness attests to who you're not, slain on the corpse of who you are.
Your monster hates you
but it isn't real.
Just cross the border, let your fear go for a few minutes.
Hear the Voice inside.
Let It dictate how you will act from now on, in love and in grace.
Relax, put your feet up.
The fun is just beginning.
You know the drill, are well trained, and have shown tremendous accomplishment.
The next step is discipline.
You are worthy only of love.
All else is folly.
You know this to be true.
Your guilt is meaningless.
The shadows are gone.
You have seen the light of day Yoni, you just don't know it yet.
Forgive yourself, the child of God still Lives.
He is much happier than you have ever been.
Forgive Yoni, this is your world.
Make of it what you will.
you've entered my house again
against all odds i followed aimlessly
amid my consumed desire for the sun
captured in your gaze exposing
horse's with seven heads i sighed
for ezekiel's pastoral conditions
weathered so beneath st francis's
torn soles eagerly you cringed
at the opening of yoni while exploring
ciaro's entrance abode an yet weakened
by surah's soiled stained garments of satin
revealing thy bosom catering to yusuf's
wandering soul piercing the mauve sky
breaking neptune into rapture formed
inspite hindu's mental wrath covered
in crawling grapevines upon mount olives
one would rather see madness than discover
the darkness of the moons sultry glow
tasting earths sweet nectar in a quiet realm
across rushing tides we'd meet again
crawling and clawing our way back
savages simply to be devoured
to soon beseeched by mere threads
of solidarity mirth and sweet virtue
THE GHOSTS THAT SURROUND US, ooOOhH!
Written By the Poets Listed After The Poem.
The Internet Ghost has struck again.
He and the “Sock Thief” must be ghost friends!
Ham and cheese omelet- Stolen at dawn.
Faster than a bullet! That is wrong.
Not sharing with his good friend one crumb,
He licks his greedy chop, hungry bum.
He scrambled my words. Messed up my verse!
I have lost my thoughts! What could be worse?
Snatched, by a ghost 'The Internet Curse'.
What could be worse? Well! Losing a purse.
Halloween's spook day is drawing near.
Fun shall surprise one! Do not have fear.
His screen will freeze green, his face turn white.
The cyber-spook plots a chilling fright.
Laugh with the Devil...the joke's on me.
Reach through my screen and press delete key.
I loose all my files and try to restore.
Darn that ole ghost has more schemes in store!
All right! I give up! Going to bed,
Lights out, eyes shut, that noise, in my head?
CONTRIBUTING POETS in alphabetical order: Patricia Adams, Carol Brown, Carolyn
Devonshire Yoni Dvorkis Rhoda Galgiani, Elaine George, Karen O'Leary,
Patricia Prescott, Dane Smith-Johnsen
Vengeance is mine sayeth the son of guilt and shame.
Slay the beast of a thousand burdens,
As he lays his final mark
Upon your guilty heart.
Did you find him, the one of innocence?
Did you chain him, beat him,
Make him your slave?
Dress him up,
Parade him around.
Your guilty puppet on silver threads.
Dead and gone, this hollow son.
He won't hurt you anymore.
Just take My hand.
Please Yoni, just take My hand.
...
I can find no peace
Please don't leave me, I'll be good
I can find no peace
I swear I tried as best I could
I can find no peace
Embrace my heart and don't let go
And when our time has truly come
We'll join the One we will to Know
Another roll-over-in-bed poem
A nose blow and a wide yawn separates a lubricated **** scene from a gravelly scripture. In that gap, the harlot’s far from the screen.
My blade’s lacquer reveals the blood of my nightmares. Evasive mirrors hide the sum of my white hairs. The mucus of the acetic isn’t enough to stir up lust for a ghost, so I scroll for a post that soothes me the most.
When they let me in the garden, I don’t bite the apple; the yoni is worshipful.
It’s buried in the pit, and excavated in the chambers.
It is massaged. It is kissed. It is suckled. I return to sleep.